Just One: A Journey of Perseverance and Conviction

By Nour Akhras

Dr. Nour Akhras is a pediatric infectious diseases physician, one of only 1,500 in the United States. Just One: A Journey of Perseverance and Conviction chronicles the life of this Syrian American doctor, honestly portraying her struggles as an American Muslim in an Islamophobic climate and as a mother providing humanitarian aid in war-torn coun

• Language: English
• Publisher: Global Bookshelves International, LLC
• Release date: Mar 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9781957242088

Nour Akhras

Dr. Nour Akhras is a board-certified pediatric infectious diseases physician who has been working at a free-standing Women and Children's Hospital in the suburbs of Chicago for the last decade. Dr. Akhras was trained in pediatrics at the University of Illinois Chicago Medical Center and completed her fellowship at the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor. She holds a BA in Cellular and Molecular Biology from the University of Chicago and received her medical degree from Rush Medical College. Dr. Akhras was trained in traditional Islamic sciences in Damascus, Syria, and has her ijaza in tajwid through the late Shaykh Hasan al-Kurdi. She has contributed a chapter on Islamic bioethics to a book published by Yale University entitled What's the Point? Clinical Reflections on Care that Seems Futile. She has served on the board of IMAN (Inner City Muslim Action Network). This grassroots organization fosters transformational change in urban communities where she co-chaired IMAN's youth group, Pillars, for many years. She has also participated in multiple medical missions to support Syrian refugees in Hatay, Turkey, Thessaloniki, Greece, and displaced war victims in Ma'rib, Yemen. She has served on the boards of MedGlobal and the Syrian American Medical Society Midwest chapter. She has advocated for the rights of refugees by authoring op-eds in newspapers like USA Today and the Chicago Sun-Times. She has led speaking engagements, including presenting at Washington DC's National Press Club, discussing the effects of Syrian war violence on the lives of Syrian women. She loves to travel, read, and swim in her free time. She takes bike rides and walks with her family and supports her children, who play basketball games. One may also find her attending gatherings with her sister, cousins, and high school friends.

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Just One

A Journey of Perseverance and Conviction

Nour Akhras, MD

Global Bookshelves International

Louisville, KY

Copyright © 2023 by Nour Akhras

Editorial Director: Janan Sarwar

Editor: Rumki Chowdhury

Cover Image: ©UNHCR/Ivor Prickett

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission.

Printed in the United States of America.

Global Bookshelves International

Louisville, KY 40222

www.GlobalBookshelves.com

To comment on this book, email [e-mail].

Publisher’s Note: The author and the publisher have made every effort to ensure the accuracy and completeness of the information presented in this memoir. Some names and locations have been changed to protect identities. However, the author and the publisher cannot be held responsible for the continued currency of the information, any inadvertent errors, or the application of this information to practice. Therefore, the author and the publisher shall have no liability to any person or entity with regard to claims, loss, or damage caused or alleged to be caused, directly or indirectly, by the use of the information contained herein.

Just One: A Journey of Perseverance and Conviction / Nour Akhras. -- 1st ed.

ISBN 978-1-957242-04-0 (paperback) ​

ISBN 978-1-957242-08-8 (epub)

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the first refugee I ever learned about and whom I deeply love; peace and blessing be upon him.

Prologue

February 9, 2023 ​

I am a pediatric infectious diseases physician, one of only 1500 in the United States. During the last decade of my life, I have treated some of the sickest children in our country, from babies with brain infections to toddlers with bone infections to school-aged children with complicated cases of pneumonia to adolescents with tuberculosis. I am also in the midst of my parenting journey with a son on the brink of starting high school, a preschooler, and two children in between.

Over the last few years, I have witnessed the slow rise of right-wing extremism, which includes the disdain for refugees in my own country and Europe, accelerated by the election of former President Donald J. Trump.¹ Over the last decade, I found myself bearing witness to what happens when one group of people dehumanizes another through countless interactions with Syrian refugees across the globe.

I started writing this book in March 2019. The COVID-19 pandemic tabled any progress for two years until I picked it back up at the end of 2022. Some nights ago, the world learned of a horrific pair of earthquakes that struck southern Turkey and northern Syria, regions where millions of internally-displaced Syrians and refugees live. Knowing that so many people have lost everything (again!...since so many of this population have already lost their homes more than one time before this) compelled me to complete this project promptly to highlight the stories of these families.

This book was written with a mother’s sense of urgency and a physician’s ability to look past anyone’s origin or belief system.

Table of Contents

The Invitation

The Interrogation

The Initiation

Realizations

Trust

Refuge?

The Snipers

Following the Flock

They Won’t Remember

The Defeat

The Surprise

Compartmentalization

The Other

The Military

The Misogyny

The Terror

The Discovery

The Return

The Little Secret

The Resistance

The Building Blocks

Just One

CHAPTER ONE

The Invitation

Chicago, USA 2017 ​

​

Perhaps, we could cross the Red Sea by boat to make it to Yemen, or if we fly into Djibouti, I received a text message. Perhaps. It is late August of 2017, and this is our second attempt to get into Yemen on a medical mission amid war and what the UN has deemed the worst humanitarian crisis of our lifetime. I replied with a swimming emoji. I admire dreamers. I am too practical to be a dreamer, but when you are a dreamer, you make things happen that no one would have ever expected. I already knew that about Zaher Sahloul, a pulmonary and critical care physician and our medical mission team leader. After all, six years prior, I had traveled to Hatay, Turkey, with him, my husband, and two other physicians to provide medical aid to the first group of Syrian refugees who had fled to Turkey in September 2011. Back then, about 8,000 refugees had just arrived. Today, more than 6 million Syrian refugees are scattered worldwide. Another 6 million are internally displaced; over half of the population have been forced to leave their home and move around within their country's border.

Chicago, USA 2011 ​

At the end of August 2011, I was visiting my family in Chicago from Ann Arbor with my two small children, aged two years old and ten months old. I had planned to stay for about a week as I had some scheduled time off from work. My husband was going to follow me on the weekend. My cousin, Suzanne, and her husband, Zaher, invited me to share a breaking-of-the-fast meal in Ramadan (the Muslim month of fasting from all food and beverages, yes, even water, from dawn to sunset). There were about a hundred guests.

They had rented out a banquet room at a local Persian restaurant. The pink sunset reflected off the golden accents of the chairs onto the pale mint green walls. The room was airy, and the white linen tablecloths were fresh. The succulent char-broiled filet mignon shish kabob melted in my mouth. The tangy, creamy, savory mashed and roasted eggplant with its irresistible smoky flavor mixed with lemon juice and garlic was the perfect side. Furthermore, a large gulp of ice water was the ideal way to quench my thirst after a fourteen-hour fast.

I love coffee, along with my favorite Middle-Eastern dessert, knafeh. Knafeh consists of baked, shredded, crunchy phyllo dough enveloping a mixture of melted, stretchy cheeses topped with sweetened syrup. As I was enjoying my dessert, Zaher saw me.

Nour, how has your Ramadan been? He asked.

You know. Surviving. That’s the only way to describe fasting with two small children at home, I joked. How about yours?

It’s good. Thank you. Actually, I am making travel plans with SAMS [the Syrian-American Medical Society]. I’m putting together a team of physicians to travel to the refugee camps in Turkey, Zaher explained. His hazel eyes lit up behind his wire-framed glasses.

Oh, really? I had not expected a medical mission to be the topic of conversation.

Yeah, and we don’t have a pediatrician. Could you come with us? He asked.

I had never done anything like this before, but in my mind, I was ready to go. I did not even have to think twice about it. However, I did have these two tiny human beings who depended on me, and then, there was my job.

When would the travel dates be? I asked him.

In eight days.

Eight days? There was no way I would be able to find someone to cover my week-long of being on service as the pediatric attending at a tertiary care hospital, leading and teaching a group of residents, I thought to myself, in eight days. Nevertheless, I was wrong.

I got home late that night from dinner, but the next day, I called my husband first thing in the morning. 

Hi, Sweetheart. How are you and the kids doing? He answered, having seen my number on the caller ID. 

You know. Crazy.

We laughed because he knew what it was like to try to exist between the two-year-old trying to gain his independence which included new-onset tantrums and trying to save the crawler from her curiosity which frequently landed her in trouble.

So, listen, I am calling to get your opinion on something. Last night, Zaher asked me to come on a medical mission to southern Turkey to the Syrian refugee camps, I started.

Really? Who is going?

It would be me, him, and two other physicians from Michigan Internal medicine physicians. I would be the only pediatrician. I explained.

You should totally do it, He exclaimed. I could imagine him sitting in bed, his big black eyes shining with excitement, his black curly hair crowning his bearded face.

He has always supported me, so I was not surprised by his answer. However, I was surprised that he did not hesitate, given how young our children were. My husband, Amjad, has forever been an optimist. He believes there is a human being on the other side of any situation who can be convinced. 

Really? How about the kids? I asked. I am the pragmatic one in the relationship.

We’ll figure it out.

What do you mean, figure it out?

I don’t know, Sweetheart. Your parents, my parents… I could take time off. When is the trip?

In eight days. I need you to bring my passport, scrubs, clothes, and stuff. I had not left my home in Ann Arbor with plans for an international trip. I’m also on service that week. I don’t think I’m gonna be able to change that.

Just try. If you tell your boss you’re going on a medical mission to a refugee camp, she will try to help you.

​So that night, I wrote an email to my boss: 

Dear Beth,  ​

I hope you are well. I am scheduled to be on-service for the green team [the resident team] on September 1st, but I am emailing you to see if I can change my schedule. Last night, I was invited to be on a medical mission team to southern Turkey to provide medical relief to the first wave of Syrian refugees who crossed into Turkey. I would be the only pediatrician and female physician in the group. Since I am bilingual and of Syrian origin, I think I could be particularly instrumental on this trip. But I completely understand that a week is a short amount of time to find a backup. So, let me know. I would be gone for ten days. 

Sincerely,

Nour

Twelve hours after I had hit send, I received the reply: 

Dear Nour, ​

That’s amazing! Go. We will take care of it. Your work there is far more critical. We will find someone to cover for you.

Beth

In March 2011, protests erupted in Deraa, a city in southern Syria, demanding the release of political prisoners. The protests were met with deadly force as military officers shot at the protesters erupting in countrywide peaceful protests over the next few months. The demonstrations were continually met with excessive force that ignited violent unrest and eventually exploded into an all-out war with the inclusion of Russia and Iran on the side of the Syrian government and the Gulf states supporting what would subsequently become the Free Syrian Army. Ultimately, as in all other areas where there is a power vacuum, a group of thugs (also known as ISIS) infiltrated the country and added to the violence.

No one ever expected anything like this to ever happen in Syria. The president of Syria, Bashar Al-Assad, was interviewed by The Wall Street Journal in January 2011. They asked him if he thought the Arab Spring would reach Syria. The Arab Spring was a pro-democracy movement between 2010-2011 grounded in Tunisia and Egypt as citizens of the Middle-East and North Africa took to the streets to protest some of the area’s most authoritarian governments². President Al-Assad answered in the negative with complete confidence.

My uncle visited the States the month after that interview in February 2011. In his late 70s, he was a prominent obstetrician and gynecologist who, along with his wife of the same medical specialty, had opened a hospital in the central city of Homs. I was born at that hospital.

My uncle spent his entire life in Homs, excluding a few years of residency training in the United States.

"What do you think, Khalo [Arabic for Uncle]? Is the Arab Spring coming to Syria next?" I asked him.

Impossible. The Syrian people know better, he replied.

He and the president turned out to be proven wrong.

As the protests continued, one particular non-violent activist named Ghiath Matar stood out, with his infectious smile and short black hair. Ghiath insisted on pursuing peaceful means. He wanted to offer the Syrian military soldiers flowers and water bottles. Yet, he was arrested and tortured to death at twenty-six. His funeral was attended by then US ambassador to Syria, Robert Ford, among other foreign ambassadors. Ghiath’s wife was pregnant with their first child at the time of his murder. She had a boy named, Ghiath, Jr.

A prolific documentary about Ghiath’s life was entitled, Little Gandhi. There is one clip etched in my brain. It was when one of Ghiath’s friends talked about what it felt like the first time they stepped out onto the streets of Daraya (the city where he and Ghiath were from), chanting for freedom. His eyes lit up as he said, It’s like we were breathing for the first time.

The taste of freedom. 

The thing about freedom is that once you taste it, you cannot untaste it. Furthermore, most people spend the rest of their lives pursuing that feeling of euphoria that only space can provide. 

Over the next few months, hundreds of videos were uploaded to YouTube by Syrian protesters. They believed that if they showed the world everything that was being done to them, anyone would come to their rescue. I am sure that no other event in human history has been recorded as much as the Syrian uprising had been.

There were videos of peaceful protests, gruesome massacres, barrel bombs, secondary bombs (where the Syrian army threw bombs onto the rescue workers), chemical weapons attacks, and hospitals and ambulances' destruction. However, twelve years later, no one had come to the aid of the Syrian people.

That was how refugees from Jisr as-Shaghur, Syria, ended up in Hatay, Turkey and why I received that invitation to join my first medical mission. 

If you had told me as a teenager that I would go on this journey, I would have never believed you. Not because I would have never been interested in it. On the contrary, I always dreamed that one day, I would work for an NGO (non-government organization) and travel to underdeveloped countries to serve in a medical capacity Nevertheless, I would not have believed that my first mission would be when I was a mother of two very young children. Mothers of young children did not do that sort of thing, I had told myself. At least, none of the other mothers I knew would jump at an opportunity to travel to the border of a war-torn country like Syria.

The reason everyone thought Syria was unlikely to follow in the footsteps of the Arab Spring was that the previous president of Syria, Hafez al-Assad, father to the current president (Syria is not a monarchy), ruled with an iron fist. A Syrian uprising in the late 1970s to early 1980s culminated in an attempt on al-Assad Sr.’s life. He responded by pummeling the city of Hama using helicopter gunships and bulldozers. Thousands of people were killed in Hama in 1982. Anyone affiliated with the Muslim Brotherhood (thought to be the ones orchestrating the assassination attempt) anywhere in Syria was arrested, tortured, or killed³. For decades, no one raised his head, much less his voice in protest. Most people avoided talking about politics.

Shhh! The walls have ears! My aunt, Hanan, whispered to my sister and me on our first trip back to Syria from the United States as teenagers when we dared to inquire about why the president’s picture was plastered all over public buildings and stores. My sister and I had grown up in Chicago listening to Jay Leno and the Saturday Night Live cast making jokes about the president and Congress among most governmental or political authorities. We did not realize that in Syria, we could be hauled off to an interrogation room and beaten for simply wondering out loud how the president continued to be re-elected with over 90 percent of the votes for decades. No wonder our Syrian relatives were quick to hush us. My sister and I just shrugged. Maybe, something was lost in translation?

CHAPTER TWO

The Interrogation

No one old enough to